Family History

Mr. Wezebbellthy

Lived in Era 42 and got 1 heir(s) (Lanoc).
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Mr. Lanoc

Lived in Era 42 and got 1 heir(s) (Lanoc).
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Sir Lanoc

Lived in Era 42 and got 1 heir(s) (Lanoc).
The troll slowly edged down the uneven passageway. It was time to gather his remaining forces, few though they may be. They only occupied a small city on the outskirts of nowhere. It was time for them to take control of what had once been their empire, stretching for forty leagues or so inside a ringed mountain pass.
He came at last to the end of the corridor. His torch flickered wildly before, making the frightening scene even more eerie. Tens of thousands of monstrous beasts gazed out, their bloodshot eyes gazing fiercely at the intruder. A curious mixture of blood and drool dripped slowly from their fangs. There were huge bulbous growths on their faces, and scars of battles long past. These were the berserkers, who had been touched by disease, The "Kloarpit Gryleronet Scaps", as so named in the troll language, roughly translating to "Disease of the Blue Horse". Not even the wisest of scholars of other races had figured out what this meant, Trolls ate horses, but beyond that they did not know. At any rate, it changed even the most frail of trolls into huge grotesque beasts, leastways, if they survived the ordeal. Fortunately, though contagious, it was not overly so, and trolls would only contract it by drinking diseased blood. This, however, occurred more frequently than one might think.
The berserkers were in individual pits, chained with tight steel chains. Even these were snapped like grass, and the warlords had a tough time of keeping them under control. There were ten warlords to a berserker, even trained and skilled warriors were sometimes incapable of handling the leviathans. The troll grinned, and roared above the clamour and screams of unfortunate victims.
"Friends! Tonight we will feast on the blood of our enemies. We shall splash water on their buildings. We will club their infants to death with fire. We will pick their teeth and grind their bones."
A deafening chorus of roars and yells went up. The troll-king smiled. "Let them loose from their cages!" The warlords did as they were bid, but would worried glances. The giants trampled over one another and the warlords, but by some fluke and skill they were shepherded towards the exit. They trampled upwards through the winding tunnel, and out into the sunlight. The king stood and cried, waving his pointed sceptre roughly east, and that was where the horde headed.
They marched east for many nights. The warriors were growing restless. Many weaker trolls were eaten. The king could afford such cannibalism however, there were hundreds of thousands of soldiers. At last, a city same unto the horizon. They reached it by nightfall, and had their fill of blood. Only a few hundred of the army was lost, and that was because the berserkers went out of control. The army halted. The king drew aside the head mage. After a brief whispered conversation, it was decided to head immediately north. The mages had seen the numbers of a massive army from afar, and only blood of soldiers would quench their thirst.
After several days they arrived. They had left none to guard the small conquered city, it would be retaken, and retaken soon. The king chuckled. It was a small city, little more than a town, but many troops guarded it. Not as many as those who came to conquer it however. His army spread out across the region, no supplies would find their way into the city. The troops and peasants inside would quickly starve. After a couple of days, the defenders realised their predicament in full, there was no other cities for miles, and a decent sized armies would take weeks to reach it. So, they charged from the city, into death's waiting hands.
The trolls were ready. They let loose the berserkers on the various armies. Many races there were, humans, elves and halflings. They quickly fell to the strength of the trolls. Arrows poured from the walls, but the trolls' armour easily foiled them. The remaining troops were rounded up and killed. Then, the trolls marched into the city, slaughtering any remaining peasants.
Many weeks passed, the trolls had managed to force the slaves to make them a profitable living. Not very much however, but enough. The king heard tell of a massive gathering of forces coming to kill them. He ordered the trolls to make a wall. He was informed that there was no stone or tree to build them with. "Then make them of bodies." For they had left the bodies rotting, a fetid stench arose from them. But trolls had little sense of smell, and did not care about the disease that might arise.
The vast horde of orcs arrived. Hundreds of thousands of troops marched among their ranks. Other armies or various races followed, but none near as big. They broke upon the city like a large wave unto a sandcastle. The walls were pushed down, but at least took a great many of the orcs with them. The troll king gave a cry. He was at the head of the army, possibly a rather foolish move. He had been misinformed of the army's strength. Of course he had seen it, but scouts had counted it, to the nearest dozen they had said. He would put their heads on a pike if ever he survived. He charged, is army following behind. They would have quailed if he had snuck back into the files. He managed to guard himself with his shield, spearing his foe with his trident. Not the best of weapons, more of a trinket, but it had pointed ends, and was made of steel, though more decorated than most.
He was protected by his guards throughout the battle, though many of them fell. He had suffered a grave cut. Suddenly, orc horns blew, and they pulled back from the fighting. The trolls held back. The king looked at the losses. The orcs had lost twice as many, but still had more troops than they. A huge grotesque orc roared. "This is stupid. Both our forces will diminish to nothing. What say you to a duel, king? The loser's army will be the slaves of the other" The troll king pondered. Doubtless, the orcs would not hold their word. But it would be a huge boost to morale if he won. He took the sword of a fallen soldier. His trident had been broken in battle. A plain sword it was, issued to each soldier, made of steel and well forged. He blew upon his horn, accepting the challenge.
They stood out from their armies. The orc wielded a battle-axe, and was armoured with gold. The troll chuckled. It would turn a blade, no doubt, but gold was soft, and not the best of protection. The orc yelled, and threw a hidden knife. It hit the troll in the chest. He groaned, but pulled it out and threw it to the side. He lifted his sword and charged, bearing down upon the grinning orc, who lifted his battleaxe and blocked. They parried a while, but the orc, big though he may have been for his people, tired quickly wielding the battleaxe, and soon was bleeding from many cuts. The troll took the axe from him, and beheaded the orc. A scream went up from the orcs. The trolls charged the stunned beasts, who were forced over the many corpses, many trampled as they went. They met with the other armies, who were no allies of them. The trolls forced back any who tried to attack into the fray, and soon the numbers of all the armies dwindled into nothingness. The berserkers had all died, unable to resist the blood. Only a score of thousands of trolls remained, mostly mages and warlords. The troll king yelled in pain. The poison from the knife had taken effect as last. Though a troll's skin in like the bark of a tree, and their hearts beat slowly, still the poison had entered a severed vessel, and slowly killed him. He fell to the ground, and dying he looked up at his son. "Lead them to victory," were his dying words.